This foray into northern India had a very loose plan. When I knew I had days to spare me thought a little bit of wilderness would do me good. Not that snowboarding in Gulmarg is anything but wild! So I had a look to see what I could do. I picked a trail based around visiting a few, well known, touristy haunts. Then found some spots where I hoped to escape that norm.
Having visited the Mecca equivalent for the Sikhs; being the golden temple in Amritsar. Using their unique and gracious hospitality I spent the night sleeping on the floor, near the temple. Now, this was a totally free offering, by them, as was breakfast too. Dinner and lunch are also available gratis. There are donation boxes and for all I got I gave them 100 rupees. It isn't a massive sum by western standards but was better than hee-haw.
As I was packing up my things another western guest was asked to sign the guest-book upon departure. 'I’ll sign but I’m not giving you any money!' was the indignant retort. At that point I felt quite embarrassed to have the same coloured skin as him. The Sikhs merely have to keep a track of who is coming in and out; there was no inclination of want of payment. It's the first religion I’ve come across that has welcome mats at the entrance to its major shrine. I made sure that I left a good ten minutes between myself and the scrooge before venturing off for my train.
On my way I bemused a cycle-rickshaw wallah by offering to pay him to let me ride his bike taxi. He looked old and that he'd worked hard for many years. He got many an admiring cheer from his fellow wallahs as whitey cycled him to the station rather than vice versa. The train bounced along to a place called Pandikot, where is switched to a bus for Dharamasala. If I thought the train bouncy, my next 4 trips, by bus, made the train feel like I was back gliding effortlessly through heavenly Kashmiri powder, on my snowboard. Himachal Pradesh local bus service got a flat tire on every trip. Even the short two hour one! But this tale is becoming more a volume so I will negate any more mention of these musings.
From the home of the exiled Tibetans, I headed up to McLeod Ganj for a couple of days. Here I caught up with friends, went for a little mini-day adventure and kept bumping into Scottish people, seems we like it there! However, this stop was just a relaxing debut before my first proper excursion. I was to hike, from 1300m, from a village called Baghi to Lake Prashar, at 2800m. Then I'd need to find somewhere to kip, whether it is in the temple next to the lake or under the stars was, as yet, undecided. Before I could get started I needed to get some food and a pot to cook it in. having, moronically, forgotten my trusty mug I needed a drinking vessel too! For my supply stop I chose the town called Mandi. Not because my name rhymes with it but because it was the only place I could catch a bus to the trailhead. So another 6 hour whirly-gig bus ride deposited me late on a Sunday evening.
I was quite intrigued by Mandi as I approached. It had an old looking suspension bridge, which I later found out was named after Queen Victoria. Some nice looking stone Hindu temples and what looked like lots of other bits to go exploring. Unfortunately, as it grew dark, we pulled up to the bus station and I started to get the feeling that the vibe didn't quite match my first impressions. I guess Mandi is a town the tourist forgot! With such well known destinations nearby, like Manali and Shimla, Mandi has probably never been given the attention it could deserve by the western rambler.
Not to be taken aback, I find some lodgings and haggle a fairer price than he first offers me. Only after I agree to the room and get ready to wash of the layer of travel grime, which coats you on any long Indian bus journey, do I realise one of my windows is missing its pane of glass! At least it’s not cold so I’m none too perturbed at this point, which was until the morning-bell-ringing-Hindu-ritual began. I spent my two months in Gulmarg being woken up to the call to prayer, about 6am, every morning. Sometimes it was annoying, once or twice quite pleasant and on the best days slept through! But it pales into insignificance when you compare it to the unmelodic clanging of bells from about 5am, which lasts for eons. Now if you catch me on a regular day I’m not what you call a morning person. If you wake me up rudely and without warning I’m downright monstrous. I lay in bed cursing the Hindu gods, then realised I would be there a long time seeing how they have about 3 million incarnations, so decided getting up might be better!
The previous evening I had ventured out to stock up for my trip. I’ve checked and I can catch a bus out at 5.45am to the start of my trek. (Not even realising I was going to get a free alarm call, sans snooze function, from 5am!) as I try and get the 'hotelier' to tell me where I can get a pot from, he's way more interested in telling me the gate is locked at 10pm. 'no problem' I say. 'But what time do you unlock it in the morning?' I ask, with much pointing, gesticulating and no words he understands! Eventually I get a reply of 6am. Not much help for me making my bus.
Starting to feel that my plan is coming a wee bit unstuck, I strike out in search of my cookware and food. Mandi’s very much not a night town. It also doesn't do Sundays! Turns out, there is no chance of buying said pot till tomorrow. I couldn't find a kitchen or women willing to part with what I needed. Deflated, I returned to my room and set my alarm for a few extra hours sleep, which I never even got! So the next morning, grumpy and starting to feel a little bit of foreboding towards my adventure, due to last night’s setbacks; off I set again to try my luck.
Turns out I can get booze and a shave, in Mandi, at 9am, on a Monday but no pot. I opted for the latter but felt much more like the former! My shave was lovely. I opted to keep the slug of a moustache I’d grown for company and for you Dave! I finally got my hands on a shiny new pot and headed back, packed, then made for a bus. Informed I had a 1 and a half hour wait for my bus, I went from grumpyish to exceptionally irritable because all my ingenious planning was melting like the snow in Gulmarg!
I wouldn't say I’m a fastidious planner. Yet, when I have something in mind I like everything to run smoothly. Things, most definitely, were running like a Himachal Pradesh bus: if it wasn't broken down, it was on a very bumpy course! The slug and I had a little chat, over some chai, and he calmed me down. Just to remind one's self that you've got days to waste and you are, after all, trying to do this in India, starts to bring rationality back to your woes. The bus set off and a far calmer Sandy was aboard. About an hour towards my destination, this being the start of the trek, which I had a ranging time scale of taking anywhere from 1-5 hours, we got a flat! 'Bugger all this nonsense' I thought to myself. I came here to go walking so that's what I’ll do. So I donned my boots and started pounding the extra 10kms I’d just added by abandoning the bus.
It was early afternoon by this point and I was beginning to formulate an extra night into the trip. I had the food and time so why not? I managed to hitch a decent number of kilometers off the road section and arrived at the start of the trek around 2pm. I set off at a healthy, tall Scotsman’s pace and was past the non-existent trail head in no time. Three girls heading back from school, amongst much giggling told me where I should have gone. De-layering, I traced my steps back and was heading up, up, up in no time.
The walk through the forest and what I’m calling 'ladybird meadow', which invokes a far nicer image than 'power line pass', was very pleasant. (I must note that the majority of the ladybirds were fornicating. completely off the point, but, does anyone know why the P.C. crew haven’t got the ladybird renamed yet? seems a little unfair seeing how it's a police constable, lollipop person and all the other generic non-sexist titles we have now. I suppose personbird would take a little catching on!) It was a little overcast and the viciousness had gone from the sun. I stomped it out in a little under two hours. Words and photos never do the actual walk any justice so just go do it yourself!
I did a little research before I left McLeod Ganj and discovered, disappointingly, that you can actually drive almost to the doors of the temple. Turns out Lake Prashar is quite special to the Hindus. So I passed the nice forestry rest house, you can stay in, unsurprised by its presence. The big surprise for me was the 6 foot fence, crowned with barbwire, right around the lake and temple area. I questioned its need and was told it marked the temple boundary. Why the temple needed a boundary fence in such a sparse and remote location he could not answer. Perhaps the holy power of the temple has a range that can't go past the fence. Some things you just have to lay to rest and while the fence made me a little confused it didn't detract too much from the natural beauty of my surroundings. It’s quiet there, after the boys stopped playing cricket, and clean. I took a few snaps and just sat and mellowed. The sun was soon heading down and I still needed to find a place to crash.
There were more people at the lake than I’d expected. So I instinctively new I wouldn’t get the peace I was looking for by sleeping there. I wondered off over the fence and into the unholy yonder! Rounding a high point I saw a cluster of summer shepherd’s huts. They were next to the main single-track the locals, from the surrounding dwellings, used to get to the temple. I was hopeful they'd not be in use and started to make my way over. As I skirted round a gully my eyes were drawn down. There I spotted a solitary hut. It called out to me and I knew I had found my home for the night.
I dropped down into this enclosed space and the silence came with me. Out of the wind and away from prying eyes I knew I’d get the solitude I was after. It was so quiet and peaceful there that when I was conducting my absolutions, just before sundown, I became aware of an alien noise interrupting my serenity. I pondered its source only to have a hawk fly elegantly about 5 feet above my head. Realising the noise was the roar of the wind beneath its wings. I cooked a hearty meal, made some chai and used the last rays of the day to get more of hat 5 done. When it got to dark I retired to my sleeping bag and read my book. That night I slept the soundest sleep I’ve had in a very long time. With no alarm, utter silence and very little light in the hut I slept late. I arose to a beautiful day, heated up some more chai and sat outside to finish off the hat.
I momentarily misplaced my way when heading back down to Baghi! I didn't care. I was so relaxed and happy I just jumped from rock to rock down a river bed till I found the trail again. I was smelly and dirty so stopped short of Baghi for a swim and some lunch. A local shepherd appeared and we shared some chocolate as he tried to make sense of all my stuff. He also showed me a far more efficient way to clean my pot than I had known. Basically got it looking like new again. I sauntered all the way back to the main road and hitched and strolled back to Mandi. My next destination was picked by the proximity of the buses departure to my arrival. It ended up being Chandigarh, which was a crippling 8 hours but I was pleasantly sedated by the memories of the previous couple of days.
Ramble on...............
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